


Blood Moon and Pink Diamonds

by pushingviolets



Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Future Fic, Healing, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24200389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushingviolets/pseuds/pushingviolets
Summary: "But sometimes, and only sometimes, a tiny piece of his blackened heart cries out and begs him to believe that he was made for her."
Relationships: Brick/Blossom Utonium
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66





	Blood Moon and Pink Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: This fic has elements of violence, PTSD, and OCD behaviors. If any of those things are triggers for you, I encourage you to skip over this one!

Brick threw the files into his leather bag and yanked it over his shoulder while simultaneously running a hand through his hair. The day was long as was usual for his profession as a private investigator, but today the stress began to wear at him. In his line of work, he sees things that seep into your dreams and turns them into nightmares. He sees reminders of what would’ve happened if he never changed, never escaped.

The memories of living with Him have never left him. When his mind begins to wander towards the past, he can feel his stomach knot, and his mind goes dark; he forgets how to breathe, and he swears he can feel Him’s hissing breath in his ear. Sometimes, and only sometimes, he can see the blood on his hands. No matter the amount of scrubbing, he sees it bright red and slipping down his arms.

She always stops him. With her pure, unstained hands, she grasps at his arms and pulls him from the sink; he always fights her, always wonders,  _ why does she touch me? _

He asked her once, and in the most tender gesture, she lifted his cracked hands, red from the scrubbing and stained from the bleach, and placed them onto her face.  _ Because you’re clean _ , she said. 

Brick paused at the door with his hand on the knob; a rush of memories flooded him without warning. Before he had a chance to practice his behavioral therapies, they overtook him. 

_ “Find him and snap his bones,” Him whispered. “Show him what happens when the wretched mortals denounce me.” _

_ “No,” Brick gritted his teeth, “I can’t do this anymore, I won’t.” His hands were balled at his sides. He willed himself to stop trembling and fought the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.  _

_ “You will,” Him manifested behind him, “You will do my bidding, or I’ll snap their bones instead of his.” He manifested the images before Brick could blink, the bodies of his brothers bent and broken, bleeding onto the ground as they screamed into nothing. They were calling his name, begging him to help, to protect them. _

_ “Stop it,” His voice shook, “Make it go away.” The images persisted, “I’ll do whatever you want! Leave them alone, that was the deal! Make it go away.” His voice broke, and tears fell down his face.  _

_ “I knew you’d come to your senses,” Him placed a hand on the small boy’s shoulder. “You were always the smart one.” _

_ He returned later in the night. His hands were slick with the man’s blood. His pleading cries echoed in his mind. Brick closed the bathroom door behind him and started the water, but caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror.  _

_ He was only twelve years old, but he had the eyes of an old man. Pained and blood-shot, weighed down with pain no child should feel. The blood on his hands shone brightly on his skin. It matched his eyes.  _

_ With no hesitation, he grabbed the bleach from below the sink and began to scrub away the evidence of his sins. _

They escaped that night. Brick grabbed his brothers and landed on the doorstep of the bright white home. He pounded on the door like a madman. Continuously glancing over his shoulder, fully expecting to see the familiar sickly mist manifest behind them. 

She opened the door and stared in shock at their physical states, frail and afraid. Her eyes gleamed pink in the moon, and she pulled all three of them inside. 

He smiled at the thought of her, soft skin and pink all over from her eyes to the apples of her cheeks. Her red hair shone in the sun, and her freckles nearly looked golden when he asked her  _ that _ question. 

How can one annoying, goody-two-shoes girl be such a beacon of light? How can she be so fiercely fearless with willpower the strength of steel?

Most of the time, he believes he does not deserve her. The echoing words of the public pound against the inside of his skull like a hammer, his past being dredged up as tabloid fodder every time she holds his hand.

But sometimes, and only sometimes, a tiny piece of his blackened heart cries out and begs him to believe that he was made for her.

She was made for him.

A peace settled in his heart at the thought. He opened the door and stepped into the moonlit night.

**********

Blossom sat slumped over her wooden desk with strewn documents littering the surface. She may have been superhuman, but even the strongest succumb to boredom now and again. After taking over her father’s role as chief scientist for the city, she had grown increasingly tired of the incessant paperwork the city council officials demand is integral to the functioning of Townsville. 

The redhead sighed and leaned back into her chair, arching her back and articulating her spine in a series of satisfying pops. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done exciting, meaningful work. Her new and improved forcefield surrounding the city had cut the remaining monster attacks by half, and she and her sisters easily contain the stragglers. She worked closely with other scientists and has traveled extensively as a guest speaker to several Ivy League universities. Her current role in assisting with the human genome project has been exhilarating and fulfilling and everything she wanted out of pursuing science as a career.

Blossom’s eyes trailed back down to the assortment of papers needing her stamp for funding and approval. She lifted the first one within her grasp and dropped it with a hiss. 

Papercut, of course. Blossom reached for a tissue but halted at the sight of a small bead of blood pooling at the top of her index finger. An assault of memories came to her, his eyes, the bruises, the wounds on his body dripping blood on the front steps of her house.

_ A pounding came at the door, desperation evident in its ferocity. Blossom stood up, grumbling, irritated at the intrusion. She finally had the home to herself while her sisters were with their respective friends and their father was away at a conference, her plans of finishing her novel were dashed as she made her way to the front door.  _

_ The echoing knock came again, fervent and relentless. A faint whimpering came from outside. Blossom’s irritation quickly gave way to concern as she rushed to the door. As she whipped it open, she came face to face with a heartwrenching sight. _

_ Her sworn enemy stood weakly in front of her with his arm held protectively over his brothers trembling bodies. Brick’s eyes were wild, and the inhuman color was sickly complemented by the long wound above his eyebrow, dripping crimson onto his face. Blossom felt an overwhelming sense of dread overcome her mind, and she could feel their fear emanating from their bodies. In a flash of realization, she knew what had happened. _

_ Blossom pulled them into the house and slammed the door behind her. _

She quickly staunched the bleeding with a small tissue. Every day she stands in admiration at the strength her husband displayed that day and every day since then. The wounds he carries are deep and excruciating, but his resolve is limitless.

Blossom cast her gaze to her left hand and angled it towards the light of her desk lamp, mesmerized by the glittering of the pink diamond adorning her ring finger. It was the color of her eyes.

Exhausted, she lazily took out her cell phone and punched in the number she knows by heart. After a few rings, a voice filled with warmth came through the speaker.

“Hey Bloss, I’m on my way home now. You still at the office?” His words rumbled in her ear and reached down to squeeze her heart.

“Yeah, I had to review a request for a large-scale project in Citiesville. You know how much I adore political jargon,” Blossom replied sarcastically as she reached her free hand up to rub her temple. “I had an idea, would you be willing to pick up Chinese takeout and I’ll pick up a bottle of wine, and we can put on that documentary you’ve wanted to watch?”

“Sounds like a plan, but if you pick up rosé, I’m locking you out of the house,” He replied deadpan. 

“Ah, you’re such an elitist. I thought you liked pink things,” Blossom twisted a strand of hair around her finger. 

“There are some instances where pink is… an okay color.” She could feel his blush through the phone.

“Always the stoic,” She teased. “I’ll see you at home. I love you.”

“I love you too,” He said softly.

“Even if I buy rosé?” Blossom rose towards the door.

“Sorry, Bloss, that’s unforgivable. It’s a mockery of the art of wine-making.” Blossom made a sound of discontent, and Brick relented, “I suppose I could let it go this one time.”

Blossom laughed, a tinkling sound like chimes in the wind. “I’ll see you soon, Red.”

“Counting the minutes, Pinky.”

The sound of the dead phone line brought Blossom back to her surroundings, and she had nearly made it to her vehicle. The redhead quickly entered, buckled up, turned the key, and switched on the radio. The gentle croons of Sinatra echoed through the cabin. Blossom softly sang along to the old love song, timeless and sweet.

When she pulled into the driveway and stepped to the door, an overwhelming feeling of adoration overtook her systems. Blinking back tears and with an unabashed, wide smile, she opened the door.

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely love rosé wine, so don't come for me about the absolute slander I wrote. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated but not expected, I'm just happy you're here.
> 
> EDIT: Hey everybody just a general comment-  
> I do not use trauma as a plot device as someone who has never dealt with it before. I experienced my own trauma and deal with PTSD and mental illness daily. As of late, it's been affecting me more and more with current events and a loss of control over my life. This was a cathartic piece for me because, although I've never committed acts of violence, I lost my control and autonomy for a long time. I hope that is reflected in this piece, and I hope it is known that it comes from a place within me.   
> Also, I hope it is evident that, although Blossom was a light for Brick, that he escaped by himself and reached out to others to help him- which is one of the hardest things to do.  
> Thank you- E


End file.
